


Quarantine

by Sarah_Startling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: At Least It's Not Coronavirus, Dragon Pox, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Hermione, Isolation, Kind of a slow burn, Lumione - Freeform, Or Covid-19, Pandemic - Freeform, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Quarantine, Redemption for Lucius, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Stuck in the Ministry, epidemic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Startling/pseuds/Sarah_Startling
Summary: The Daily Prophet sorely under-reported this mess in the beginning. The Minister of Magic denied it was an issue, and heated debates throughout the wizarding community revolved around one topic: Dragon Pox.Hermione Granger is in a tough position. It seems that Dragon Pox focused on Purebloods first, and its spread appeared to trickle down the magical line. As a muggleborn, thus far, she has been spared this terrifying malady. And as the main researcher on discovering a cure, her safety is tantamount.And then, she’s caught in the worst possible situation: a Ministry induced quarantine, magically locking down the wizarding world until the death toll can be curved. News of the quarantine, followed by a worldwide ban on apparation and travel sweeps right past her as she works in her laboratory in the Ministry. She finds herself tucked away in the research level of the Ministry, with no possible egress, and the one man who is more intimidating than Dragon Pox:Lucius Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 74
Kudos: 168





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So, in light of the worldwide pandemic of the Coronavirus, I thought a bit of Lumione would brighten everyone's day. And what better way than to shove them in a room together and watch the sparks fly? This is going to get reallllllllll sexy real soon, so please mind the tags (and I'll add more as they become relevant)!
> 
> A thousand thank you to my wonderful partner in crime, @dreaminginvelvet, for keeping me on track and being the best beta reader in the history of the world. Any remaining mistakes are all mine!

**Part I**

This can’t be happening.

I press the elevator button for the umpteenth time, even though the damn thing refuses to acknowledge my presence. I contemplate hexing it into oblivion, then force myself to take a calming breath. It’s not the first time a Ministry elevator has broken down. It won’t be the last time, either. It’s my fault, anyhow, for working way past quitting time. Not that I had much choice in the matter, but if I had left with everyone else, I would be halfway home to Crookshanks and a cup of tea already.

I let out a loud huff, then turn on my heel. My destination is the set of stairs located at the far end of the Research Sector. It’s largely unused day-to-day, but I suppose it’s nice to have on hand when the elevators stop working.

The Sector is eerily quiet as I trudge past empty desk after empty desk. It seems that most people didn’t even bother wrapping up their work before heading home. Lazy slugs. I would be driven mad if I left my desk in such a state.

I pass several labs with doors left ajar. I squint my eyes and slow my pace. Something isn’t right here. I squeak to a stop in my trainers and peer into the nearest lab. There are papers everywhere, and cauldrons that were hastily cooled down. I sniff the air - it appears that whoever was manning this project didn’t even bother with the cleanup protocols before rushing out. 

That’s when the alarm bell goes off in my mind. Something clearly happened, something that made all these people clear out. I must’ve been deep in a brew-cycle and missed the hubbub.

Rather than panic, I set my mind to my original task: the stairs. My trainers squeak on the shiny floors along with the rhythm of my heart. I get to the door of the stairwell and give the door a hearty tug.

Nothing.

I freeze, unsure if I’m somehow in a sleep-deprived fever dream. I tug again, and the door doesn’t budge.

Dammit. 

My heart begins to pound in earnest. With this rising tide of Dragon Pox sweeping the wizarding world, it’s not too big a leap to imagine it being the cause of this rapture-esque emptiness.

A cold sweat takes over my body. I whip my wand out and try every variation of unlocking and opening spells that I can think of. Naturally, it’s a fruitless endeavor. If these are Ministry wards keeping the doors shut and the elevators inoperable, there’s no chance for me to break them.

With a huff, I spin in my heel and head back to my personal laboratory. I’m thankful for the long hours that I’ve spent holed up there, trying every available avenue to discover a Dragon Pox cure. I’ve got a cot and blankets, and a small stash of food in my desk drawers. I’ll experiment later with summoning food, but I’m fairly certain I will be able to find other food sources in the expansive Research Sector.

I pause at the door to my lab, silently taking stock of all of my provisions. My mental list, however, is interrupted by the creak of a door opening behind me.

I turn in a flash, wand at the ready. Old habits die hard, I guess. Even tucked away deep in the Ministry, I still find myself on guard for attacks.

The door across the hall is the culprit. It’s swinging open, and before I can process anything more than a jolt of shock, a head full of silvery blonde hair appears. 

Lucius fucking Malfoy.

He gives me a cold, appraising stare, eyebrow arched, all cockiness and pretension.

His low drawl seems to slither its way into my brain.

“Must you point that thing at me?” 

I look down at my wand and realize that I’ve slipped into a defensive position, wand ready with a hundred different hexes running through my mind.

I keep it leveled at him, nonetheless.

“Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

He sniffs, the very picture of indignation. Adjusting his grip on his ornate cane, he steps out of the doorway and gives a disappointed look at his surroundings. And me.

“Ministry business, Miss Granger.” 

I hold back a snort. “You are persona non grata, Mister Malfoy. I cannot imagine what business you would have in the Ministry Research Sector.”

He twists the cane in his long, spindly fingers. “Quite the Gryffindor, as always. My business here at the Ministry is none of yours. Now, kindly lower your wand. We must be civilized, mustn’t we?”

I drop my wand about six inches, the furthest that I will allow it to go. Adrenaline is shooting through my veins, and I fear that at any moment, I’ll be fighting for my life. Lucius Malfoy was cleared of his charges after the war, but tales of his cowardice and self-servitude have tainted his precious reputation ever since. It is only because of the bravery of his late wife that he was given any wiggle room during the reparations after the war.

I trust this man about as far as I can throw him.

“Civilized,” I sneer, matching his disdain. “Fancy, you lecturing me on manners.”

“Enough.” He waves his hand, dismissing me entirely. “We have bigger pixies to bottle than squabbling like infants in the mud.”

“Fine.” I all but spit the word from my mouth. His condescension rankles me more than I care to admit. I allow my wand arm to fall to my side. “Keep your business to yourself, then. I’m assuming we’ve fallen into a Ministry Quarantine, and there’s no telling how long we’ll be here.”

He allows a stiff nod. “I heard the commotion of everyone leaving, but I was indisposed.” He seems uncomfortable with that word. “When I was finally able to investigate, all I found was Gryffindor’s Princess with her knickers in a twist.”

I tighten my grip on my wand. I’d give anything to hex this man into oblivion. “My knickers are in a twist for a very good reason, Malfoy. Frankly, I’m surprised that you seem so nonplussed by this quarantine.”

His voice darkens. “My entire existence has been quarantine, Miss Granger. This, at least, is proving to be better conditions than my previous confines in Azkaban, and my recent isolation of the Manor.”

“Fair enough, Mister Malfoy.” A blush colors my cheeks, unbidden and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. “I hadn’t taken that into consideration.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t.” He casts his eyes around the empty Sector. “I imagine the wards will prevent any type of travel, even that of house-elves. Pity, I’d gotten used to tea around this time at the Manor.”

I roll my eyes, torn between disdain for this cold man and my own desire for a hot cup of tea.

“Follow me.”

Damn my British sensibilities. I turn and head into my lab, not checking to see if he will follow. At my desk, I pull a pot and two teacups from my desk drawer. It’s short work to set water to heating.

I chance a glance over my shoulder and see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway to my lab. He seems uncertain, which is a look I’ve never seen on him before.

“Do come in, Mister Malfoy.” I gesture to my sitting area, my favorite place to swill tea and lose myself in my work. There are two overstuffed armchairs, both worn and well-loved. “No need to hover at the door, though this will no doubt be poorer fare than you are accustomed to.”

He hesitates for a nano-second, then strides across the room, robes billowing behind him. He moves with such confidence, I almost find myself entranced. It’s as if he’s a dancer, each move perfectly choreographed and executed.

The whistle of the teapot pulls my attention from the dangerous man in my laboratory, and I quickly make myself busy preparing tea for us.

Merlin, am I honestly making tea for Lucius Malfoy? The thought spins my brain, and for a moment I am frozen. It’s as if I’ve been dumped into a farce, and now I’m forced to see how this comedy of errors will play out.

Luckily, my muscle memory takes over, and I am able to complete my task and levitate the tea to the sitting area with little difficulty. I sink into the chair opposite him, and I do everything in my power not to gawk at the imposing figure in front of me.

Tea with Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps this is the end of the world, after all.

He takes a tentative sip of his tea, as if he’s expecting it to be poisonous. His eyebrows raise in what I hope is approval, though, and he sets the cup back down with a contented sigh.

“Shall we maintain this painful silence for the duration of our quarantine, Miss Granger? I would find it almost soothing, but for the palpable tension rolling off of you in waves.”

Is he making a joke? I almost choke on the tea in my mouth at the thought. 

“By no means, Mister Malfoy. I am quite capable of civility since that is what the occasion calls for.”

“How kind of you. I almost feel bad for you, being caught in this situation with a loathsome Ex-Death Eater, but I imagine playing the martyr will suit your sensibilities just fine.”

I snipe back, voice as sharp as daggers. “I am no martyr, Mister Malfoy-”

“Lucius.” He cuts me off. “We may as well dispose of formalities.”

I blink at him, then offer a small nod. “Lucius, then.”

“Tell me.” He seems to relax in his chair, a sight I never thought I’d see. “What work keeps you holed up in the Ministry during a worldwide pandemic?”

I pull at the sleeves of my jumper. “The pandemic itself, actually. I am the lead researcher in the hunt for a cure.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I see. And here, I thought you’d be gallivanting around the world with Potter and Weasley, saving kittens from trees and the like.”

A chuckle escapes me. “Saving kittens, as you put it, has been their way of feeling in control after the war. Harry especially lived a life of saving the innocent, and he’s found it impossible to change tack now. In my own way, I suppose I’m no better than he is. I’m endeavoring to save kittens, but far less tangible kittens dying of unseen threats. And doing so surrounded by books and holed up in my little lab.”

“A worthy endeavor.”

“More worthy than the ‘gallivanting’ that Harry and Ron do?”

He takes a long sip of his tea, seeming to weigh his words before he speaks. “It seems to me that while they are working toward saving the day, you are working toward saving the future.”

My cup finds its home in the saucer with a satisfying sound. I regard the man in front of me, unsure how to take this unexpected praise.

“I’ve never thought about it that way.”

He offers a shrug. “Take it as you will. My opinion has been largely disregarded of late.”

“Surely that chafes you?”

“Chafe is a terribly soft word.”

I chance another sip of tea, relishing the chance to verbally spar with someone other than Crookshanks. “Soft, yes, but is it not fitting?”

He smirks, eyes shining. “I’ll grant you that much, but I would say it falls short of my actual experience. Though, I’m certain you would not care to hear the grievances of a man who brought about his own dishonor.”

I run my finger along the rim of my cup. “I’ve found that dishonor is quite a fluid state. Once dishonored, I believe it is possible to regain one’s standing in society.”

“Is that so? And this is accomplished with what - good deeds?”

“Saving kittens is a good start, I would wager. Self-sacrifice, done selflessly, would be a better start.”

“Ah, but self-sacrifice to clear one’s name would hardly be a selfless deed.”

“So some philosophers say. But I hold to the idea that good is good if done for good.”

“That’s quite a revolving door. So, you say that my regaining honor in the Wizarding World would be for the good?”

“That depends on you. If you opted to use your status and power for good, then why shouldn’t you be given the opportunity to redeem yourself?”

He lifts his cup to me, eyes glittering in the low light of my lab. “Here’s hoping, then, that redemption is more than a fairytale that Gryffindor parents tell their children to help them go to sleep at night.”

We lapse into silence at that pronouncement, but it is almost comfortable. My mind is spinning with this turn of events. First it was tea with Lucius Malfoy, and now it has evolved to tea and philosophy with Lucius Malfoy. 

I’m absolutely baffled. 

A thought occurs to me, then.

“Your presence here in the Research Sector seems more than chance to me, Lucius. Is this part of your quest for redemption?”

His mouth flattens into half of a grimace. “As a matter of fact, I came here to meet with the head researcher in charge of finding a cure. It seems that I am immune to Dragon Pox.”

My body convulses of its own accord, sloshing piping hot tea into my lap.

“Dammit!”

I’m on my feet in a trice, the tea scalding my skin through my jeans. I mutter a string of curses and fumble for my wand. 

Lucius beats me to the punch. He rises to his feet and whips his wand out of his cane in one smooth motion. He mutters a quiet ‘scourgify’ before I can even get to my wand. The relief is instant, though I can tell I’ll have a light burn on my legs from the tea.

“Th-thank you.”

He slides his wand home in his cane and regards me with his steel-grey eyes. “Of course. Do let’s try not to sling tea around in the future, though.”

I pierce him with a glare. “That wasn’t my intention, clearly. And pardon me for being caught off guard by this news. No one bothered to tell me that we had discovered anyone with immunity, despite this being directly my business.”

His knuckles go white on his cane. “Perhaps it was because, until this moment, I was undecided on whether I would let this news be known to anyone.”

I jerk my head back. “Undecided? Your blood may hold the cure for the deadliest scourge to sweep the planet and you were undecided?”

“For one who speaks so boldly about redemption and the powers of good, you seem to have quite a naive understanding of the world. I have been soundly rejected by the society that made me what I am. I owe the Wizarding World no more than what they owe me. Which is nothing.”

My hands go to my hips. “This isn’t about owing. This is about saving lives - and not kittens, as you so condescendingly referred to it just moments ago.”

“You seemed quite happy to discuss the philosophical ramifications of doing good in that same conversation, if I recall correctly.”

“Pondering philosophy is one thing - did you come here to gauge whether or not the Ministry would serve your intentions and restore your honor, Mister Malfoy, or did you simply want to dangle hope in front of our eyes and whisk it away to the Manor once you had your fun?”

“So we’re back to formalities, are we, Miss Granger?” He takes a step forward, and the light in the room suddenly feels dimmer. “I came here undecided. No one can fault me for my reticence to undergo weeks of tests and humiliation at the hands of people who revile me. And I will not be faulted by a witch who was ready to hex me on sight not ten minutes ago. That I am here at all was a gamble, and not one that I made lightly. That I chose to disclose my immunity to you was another gamble, and perhaps one that I made foolishly.”

“So now you are a martyr?” I let every ounce of disdain in my body permeate my words. “You have a duty to wizardkind to-”

“I have a duty to myself,” he roars. And just as quickly as his fury surfaced, he folds it back into himself. “I owe nothing to anyone, not anymore. But, I do owe this to myself. I had hoped when I realized that you were in charge of this research, that you would have empathy for a cast out fool such as myself, but I fear I have made a severe miscalculation.”

I clench my jaw. Everything in me screams for me to go somewhere else, get space, think through this impossible turn of events. But there’s nowhere for me to go. I open my mouth, then close it again.

Finally, I cross my arms over my chest. “You have not miscalculated.”

“That has yet to be seen.”

I bite back the anger that is seething under my skin. It’s no use for us to yell at each other until we are blue in the face.

“You haven’t miscalculated,” I repeat, and force myself to take a deep, calming breath. “I was caught off guard, and while I do not apologize for that, I do apologize for losing my composure.”

The beginning of a smirk colors his mouth. “That was quite a measured apology, and one that would make any Slytherin proud.”

We stare at each other, neither willing to give any more ground. We are standing several feet away, but it feels as if we are stuck together in a broom closet. It’s almost as if any wrong move could send us spiraling out of control again. 

Slowly, as if he would spook me at any moment, he sets his cane down to rest against the chair. He then extends his hand to me, an offer of a handshake. 

“Now you know why I am here. And, as there is no hope for me to - what was it - whisk myself back to the Manor, I put myself and my immunity in your hands. Do with it what you will.”

I squint my eyes as if I could see through any ruse that he might attempt. It is a futile attempt, and I see no other choice in front of me, so I take two steps forward and grip his hand in mine.

“You must do everything I say. I will do my very best to make this as comfortable as possible for you, but with so much at stake, I must be indelibly thorough. I will need your implicit cooperation at every turn.”

His hand tightens around mine, and a surge of warmth floods my body. “I will endeavor to be the picture of a perfect patient, Miss Granger.”

I let my hand linger a moment longer, then let it drop to my side. “Hermione, please.”

“Hermione.” My name rolls off his tongue as if he’s sampling a fine wine. “Where do we begin?”


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione explores her understanding of Lucius Malfoy while performing her first exploratory spells on the dark wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to @thethirdwxy, who is quarantined with a positive diagnosis of COVID-19. I wish you many steamy Lumiones to help you during your quarantine!

**Part II**

The first battery of tests is simple wand work. Simple, at least, for a witch who has been doing them so often they haunt my dreams.

I direct Lucius to sit on an exam table. His posture is perfect, his cold eyes watching my every move.

My muscle memory takes over the work, so I allow myself to study the man in front of me. His face is lightly lined with marks that I don’t remember seeing on him years ago. There are shadows under his eyes, and I wonder if that is courtesy of his time in Azkaban, or in the wake of losing his wife. Probably a mix of both, if I were to bet. His hair is impossibly fine, silk curtains held in perfect place by a simple tie. I imagine that it would be impeccably soft to run my hands through.

I dismiss that thought with a small jerk of my head and focus on the complicated weave of spells that I’m crafting. Properly done, this spell should reveal the inner workings of this man’s biochemistry. There’s an enormous amount of information stored in the human body, and even more so hidden in those with magical abilities. It will take my best work to peel back the layers of information and sift through it all, in hopes of discovering what makes this man, well, different.

My wand tracks across his expansive chest, and I see a dusting of pale blonde hair peeking out of his collar. He is incredibly still, a statue under my hands. If I didn’t know any better, I would assume that he was carved from marble by a Greek artisan so many years ago. 

How am I supposed to reconcile this man’s impossibly tarnished past with the man sitting in front of me?

I’m not sure I can.

A flick of my wand brings a scroll and quill to my side. It immediately sets to work jotting down the information I’m gleaning. I see Lucius’ eyebrow quirk, and for a moment, our eyes meet. If I’m not mistaken, hidden deep in his appraising eyes, I see just a spark of admiration.

Half of my attention on the quill and paper, and half on the careful movements of my wand, I find that I’m able to lose myself in work. These are the moments that I love about what I do. When I find the perfect balance between inputting information and executing a particularly tricky bit of spellwork, my rushing mind finally finds a sense of peace and quiet.

Lucius allows his eyes to close, and I find myself near enough to see the delicate spider web of veins on his eyelids, adorned with the palest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. His eyes flutter softly, and I hold myself back from emitting a quiet sigh. Sitting here like this, it’s easy to forget that he was once one of the most dangerous men in the Wizarding World. 

Finally, I conclude the spell with a twist of my wrist. I’m not looking forward to this next part.

I clear my throat lightly, and he opens his eyes and regards me with a cool expression.

“I’ll, uh-” I clear my throat again. “I’ll need you to remove your shirt. Please.”

His eyes don’t leave mine as his hands go to the clasp of his robes. A rush of warmth suffuses my body as he nimbly lets the robe fall to the table, and begins working on the buttons of his shirt. The moment is terribly intimate, watching this man disrobe, but I find I cannot tear myself away.

Once his shirt falls aside, leaving his chest bare, I force myself back into action. I begin the second series of spells, muttering the incantation under my breath. I don’t need to say it out loud, but I feel like something has to pierce this silence or I might go mad. 

Still, I’m entranced by the planes of his stomach, the twists and dives of each muscle, knit together in the perfect sculpture of a man. My hands hover over his skin, and I swear I can feel the heat coming off of him in waves. His breath seems to be coming in shorter bursts, and my cheeks warm at the thought of his breath on my neck. 

After an eternity, I move from his chest to his back. His back is a stark contrast to the perfection of his chest. There are a litany of scars, starting at his neck and forming imperfect constellations all the way down to his waistband, where they disappear but no doubt continue. My eyes mist of their own accord. He probably garnered most of these in service to Voldemort, but it breaks my heart to see a tapestry of such misery across his otherwise perfect skin.

Nevertheless, I press on. The sooner this part is done, the sooner I can have him put his shirt back on and I can stop imagining my nails raking a path down his scarred back.

His voice jolts me out of my imagination.

“Your hand is cold.”

I look down and realize that I was bracing my hand on his shoulder without realizing it. I snatch my hand away as if I’ve been burned. When the hell did that happen?

He peers over his shoulder at me, eyebrow arched. “Don’t take that as a complaint. I found it quite-” he searches for a word then his voice lowers, “soothing.”

I duck my head and hesitantly replace my hand on his shoulder. It does help me keep my wand steady, after all. 

He turns back with a small sigh that could be mistaken for a sound of contentment. 

Anxious to redirect this energy, I pause my incantation long enough to ask him a question.

“So, your immunity-” I feel him stiffen under my hand but I press on. “How did you become aware of it?”

He’s silent for a moment, and when he does speak, his voice sounds far away.

“Narcissa fell ill, after the war. After I was released, I worked around the clock to ensure that she had the best care. I all but emptied the Malfoy coffers to make her well again. She clung on, but was never quite the same. The healers could find no real reason for her to be ill, but I suspect it was a malady of the heart. I blame myself for that, and though she never could bring herself to say as much, I suspect she did too.”

He presses on, as if forcing himself to vocalize the nightmare that has haunted him all these years.

“When Dragon Pox began making its rounds, I did the best I could for her. I set her up in comfort, kept her apart from everyone, including myself. She was no match for the disease, though, and it took her from me in a matter of weeks. And then, when Draco fell ill, I refused to leave his side. The healers told me I was a madman, and perhaps I was. But I stayed by his side the way I couldn’t stay by hers, and damned if I got sick.”

I realize I’m frozen in place, breath caught in my chest.

“Draco survived, but he’s horrifically marred. He can hardly stand to show his face anymore. And from that point on, person after person around me fell ill to Dragon Pox. I thought for certain it was a matter of time until I caught it as well, especially once we learned that it targets those purest of blood most savagely. More fool I, I sought it out. Anywhere that I could go, any chance that I could contract it, I chased it. And still, I stand here today. Impossibly tormented, yes. And also impossibly healthy.”

He turns and catches my eye.

“There’s no reason for me to be alive, after all I’ve done and all I’ve seen. And yet, here I am. The one wizard in all the world cursing his inability to contract Dragon Pox. Perhaps you can make sense of it all, being that you are the brightest witch of your age.”

I focus on my spell, eyebrows knit together. I cannot reconcile this heartbroken man with the looming specter of darkness from the war. The gears in my mind are grinding together. A frown pulls at the corners of my mouth, and I feel like I should say something. But what does a person say to such a devastating confession? 

I settle on the simplest thing I can say.

“I’ll do my best.”

His eyes rake my face, but I can’t tell what they are searching for. “I have no doubt that is true.”

The better part of an hour passes in a companionable silence. It seems we are both lost in the heaviness of our thoughts. I wonder if he’s struggling with my presence as much as I am with his. Does it irk him to be worked on by a muggle-born? I’m honestly scared to bring up the subject of my blood purity, lest we find ourselves at odds again.

He cranes his neck after a time, emitting a series of pops. I still my wand movements and wipe my brow with the back of my hand.

“Alright, I need some time to review the information I’ve collected thus far. I’m afraid this part may leave you at somewhat of a loss, as there’s not much for you to do until I figure out how best to go forward.”

He gives me a stiff nod. “It seems the one thing we have at our disposal is time. I am more than capable of entertaining myself while you gather your thoughts.”

I slip my wand back into my jeans and offer him a small smile. “Tea, then?”

He pulls his shirt back on, covering his alabaster skin. “Tea, then.”

There’s something remarkably domestic about sitting down to tea with this stoic man. Though we’ve been in close quarters for less than a full evening, it seems we have already found a quite natural rhythm. Perched across from him in my favorite overstuffed armchair, a cup of tea balanced on one armrest and my notes in my lap, I almost feel a sense of peace. 

He takes up parchment and a quill, and the sound of him scratching away on paper could almost rock me to sleep. I duck my head and set to work, though, pausing only occasionally to regard him when I’m sure he’s not looking.

He seems fully absorbed in his work, so I watch him for a breath longer than I should. He must feel my eyes on him, because he looks up and stares back at me.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

I scramble for something to say, chastising myself for my foolishness at getting caught openly staring.

“Uh- What are you working on?”

He takes a deep breath. “After my release from Azkaban, I took up sketching as a way to calm my mind and focus my erratic thoughts. It took me weeks to stop shaking enough to hold a quill, but now I find myself sketching whenever I have an idle moment.”

“Any particular subject matter?”

He twists the quill in his fingers. “Stills, mostly. Though sometimes I am struck by an image and I can hardly rest until I get it down on paper.”

I nod. I’m quite familiar with that feeling. “So, what caught your fancy just now?”

His lips press into a firm line. For a moment, I fear he will rebuff me and we’ll lose this sense of comfortability that we have somehow established.

Finally, he sighs and lifts the parchment out of his lap, turning it so it faces me.

Immediately, I recognize my hand. He’s drawn my hand resting on his shoulder, from his point of view. I’m visible in the background, though I’m blurry in contrast to the stark lines of my hand. Somehow, he’s made my hand look… beautiful. I’ve never seen myself in such a way, but there, on the paper in front of me, I cannot deny the beauty of the length of my fingers, the curve of my wrist. Even my worn down fingernails seem delicate in his estimation. 

I’m blown away.

“Wow,” is all I can manage.

He offers a shrug, then puts his sketch back on his lap. “It’s not much, but it helps sort my mind.”

I tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “I find myself quite surprised by you.”

He lifts his teacup to his lips and takes a long sip. “I’m sure it must be difficult seeing a man such as myself capable of engaging in art.”

“It is,” I agree. “You’ve been the monster hiding in my closet for so long, it’s got me quite spun.”

His voice is a deep rumble, and I all but feel it in my bones. “I appreciate your candor.” 

“It’s the least I can do, the situation being what it is.”

“Indeed.” He fixes me with a stare. “Am I still no more than a monster to you?”

I chew on my lip. My instinct is to shoot back with a resounding yes, but I find myself hesitating. My entire view of this man has been upended in the space of a few hours. 

His chuckle is dark, yet forgiving. “I quite agree with your reluctance to answer. I’m unsure of the answer to that question, myself.”

A thought occurs to me, then. “In the name of candor, I have a question to pose to you in return.”

“By all means.”

“Am I more than just a- a mudblood to you, now?” I curse my inability to keep my voice from wavering, and settle on pinning him with the same stare that he’s giving me.

He sets his cup down and steeples his fingers. “I no longer hold the world in visions of black and white. The peace that came with my assurance of my own superiority was stripped away from me, and all I was left with was a muddle of grey. With surety, I no longer see you as ‘just’ anything, any longer.”

I nod, and take another sip of tea before replying. “Then that is the answer I offer to you.”

His eyes crinkle, though the smile doesn’t quite lift the corners of his mouth. “That’s settled, then. Not ‘just’ a monster. Not ‘just’ a mudblood. What a pair we make.”

I cast my eyes to my notes. There’s so much still to go through, and more tests to run. “I’m afraid we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

Lucius sets his teacup down. “I’m not much for sleeping. We can carry on, if you’d like.” His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt. “How would you like me?”

I allow myself a grin and get to my feet. I pull his teacup and mine, and set them aside. “A very good patient, indeed. Back on the table, if you please. The shirt can stay or go, your choice.”

I turn on my heel and go searching for the vials that I’ll need. I hear the creak of leather, and the soft sigh of his shirt hitting the floor. A blush springs to my cheeks at his readiness to disrobe, and at my cavalier attitude. I’ve never been this brash with anyone before, and certainly not with a test subject.

I turn back to him, vials in hand. He’s sitting in the same position, shirt off, back straight, his face a mask of mild politeness. 

My pulse quickens of its own accord. But I force myself to maintain my calm, professional demeanor. The last thing I need is to have Lucius Malfoy become aware of the fact that I am attracted to him.

I line up the vials on a tray, hyper-focusing on lining them up perfectly. Merlin. Did I just admit to myself that I’m attracted to him? I dare a glance at him, and he is watching me with a cool, even expression.

I want to kick myself for even entertaining the thought of him being attractive. He’s Lucius Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. He’s a- well, he used to be a monster. And he was. A monster, that is. 

Was.

I slam a vial down a little too hard and send the entire tray plummeting to the ground. There’s a cacophony of sound as glass and metal hit the hard tile of my lab. 

“Damn it!”

I squat down, pulling the metal tray out of the deluge of shattered glass. “S-sorry, I-” I hiss as a shard of glass bites into my finger. 

A cool hand finds mine, stopping my effort to clean up. I look up and see Lucius towering over me, chest bare, concern written into the lines of his face.

Lucius pulls me to my feet, shaking his head. “That is why we use wands, little Gryffindor.”

“I know, it’s habit, I’m sorry-” I can’t help myself. I know I’m rambling. “I was just going to pick up the tray and then a bit of glass got me, and I didn’t think-”

He shushes me softly, and surveys the damage to my finger. “Just a small cut. Nothing to fret over.”

He directs me to take his place on the exam table, and I can’t tell if it is his soothing manner or the sight of my own blood that has me following his directions without question. I watch him with wide eyes as he fetches his wand and makes quick work of the mess on the floor. Then, he turns to me and puts his hand out.

“May I?”

Warily, I place my upturned injured hand in his. He’s standing close to me, our legs just inches away from each other. He gently stretches out my finger and siphons the blood away so he can see the full cut.

As he said, it's just a small cut. Big enough to hurt, and to bleed, but nothing terrible. He begins a quiet chant, his healing incantation soft and low on his lips.

I feel woozy. His tender treatment of me is more than my mind can handle. Or, maybe it’s the blood. It must be the blood.

Right?

In a moment, my cut is healed and there’s not even a sign of a scar. He gently runs his finger over where the wound was, head bowed, intently checking his work. I find myself leaning in, watching the tender path of his fingers on mine.

He looks to me, then, head still bowed, and carefully pulls my hand to his mouth. He places a feather-light kiss on the end of my finger.

“All better?”

My mouth is hanging open. I manage a nod.

This is going to be a long night.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up in the Ministry's Research Sector, then unexpectedly cool way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thank you's to my incredible beta, @dreaminginvelvet. Without her, I never even would've known about the delicious world of Lumione.

**Part III**

Lucius Malfoy just kissed my finger. 

I stare deep into his eyes, caught on a precipice. I feel as if I’m balancing on a knife’s edge, and any wrong move could shatter this moment between us.

My finger tingles, though I cannot tell if it’s the remnants of his healing spell or the lingering warmth from his kiss. Both, maybe?

His eyebrow is arched, and he seems to be holding his breath. I can only imagine the storm of thoughts racing through his mind right now. My brain is in overdrive, and his must be, too. 

I realize that I’m holding my breath, as well.

What happens next?

His eyes hold the same question. I realize with a jolt that he is waiting for me to dictate what happens from here. 

Merlin, what do I want to happen?

Looking up at this tortured man, I find myself torn in a thousand directions. There’s work to be done, for the good of wizard-kind. I should get back to work. I should figure out this impossible question and develop a cure. I should get off of this table. I should put distance between us and move past this. I should want to pull my hand from his. I should keep myself from closing the distance between us and discovering the softness of his lips. 

I should.

Before I can think twice, I lift my head and press my lips to his.

The dam breaks between us. He pulls my hand to his chest and wraps his other hand around my neck, pulling me closer. His kiss is searing, cutting through my whirlwind thoughts like a sword. His lips are surprisingly soft and full, and I breathe a moan into his mouth. 

The maelstrom that was built between us reaches a fever pitch. He grips me as if I might disappear at any moment. I’ve never been held with such passion and need. At that moment, I feel as if my kiss is the one thing that is keeping him tethered to the Earth.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and I reach up and take his face in my hands. I never expected his face to feel so soft and yet still so strong. Our tongues dance together, full of need and want.

His grip in my hair tightens, and I find myself gasping in his arms. He directs me to lay back with a simple tug of my curly locks, and I comply without delay.

He settles his weight on top of me, and my heart tightens in my chest. How can something make me feel so devastated, and so at peace in the same breath? He runs his hands down my body, and I arch into his touch.

A wanton moan pulls itself from my mouth, and he replies with a low, rumbling growl that sends warmth directly to my core.

He grips my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. My head falls back of its own accord, and he moves to my neck, nibbling, kissing and sending shivers of pleasure shooting throughout my body.

In all my years, I never imagined myself pinned down by Lucius Malfoy, his tender ministrations making me quiver.

I rake my hands down his bare back, lightly scratching him and pulling him closer. He growls at the contact and takes my cue to graze my neck with his teeth with much less tenderness. It feels in that moment as if we could tear each other apart.

He makes his way back up to my ear and takes my lobe into his mouth. I arch my back further, and he presses down on me, the strength of his desire evident against my hip.

Merlin, I want him. My mouth quests for his and he meets me halfway, our kiss strong enough to shatter the entire world.

I run my fingers through his hair and moan into his mouth. “Lucius.”

He rips himself away from me in one smooth motion, eyes wild and chest heaving. He’s back on his feet and attempting to smooth his mussed hair before I can register what is happening.

“I-I apologize, Hermione. I shouldn’t have-”

He trails off and I prop myself up on my elbows, watching him. I’ve never seen the confident man at a loss. My lips feel swollen from his attentions, and I force myself not to reach up and feel them with my fingertips.

That’s when the shame hits me.

I clear my throat. “No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t professional-”

He stumbles over his words. “Clearly, I was taking advantage and I never-” 

“-I’ve never done anything like that, I assure you-”

“I’m many years your senior and I couldn’t ever presume-”

“I was the one who presumed, I’m so sorry-”

“I’m so sorry.”

We finally fall silent.

I manage to sit up on the table. He’s visibly torn, as am I. The tension between us is curled up, like a dragon, waiting to pounce.

He looks...sheepish? I can tell he’s chastising himself. 

I feel almost bereft without the weight of his body on mine. I’ve no idea how this man has managed to flip my understanding of him in such a short time. But the warmth of his lips on mine felt like a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

My fingers go to my lips of their own accord. I just kissed Lucius Malfoy. How did this happen?

The silence stretches on. Someone has to say something. Someone has to do something. Anything would be better than this purgatory.

Finally, I clear my throat and get to my feet.

“If you will be so kind, Mister Malfoy, I’d like to continue the tests.”

He grasps my return to formality like a drowning man clutching at a bit of flotsam. “Yes, Miss Granger. And do be quick about it.”

I turn to fetch more vials. His snipe had no barb behind it, but it feels normal. Normal is good. Normal is investigating a problem. Normal is using my brain to ferret out a solution. Normal is what I need to handle what just happened.

Vials in hand, I return to the exam table to find Lucius sitting as he was before, back straight, but this time his shirt is in place. 

Thank Merlin for that.

I line up the vials just so, then take my wand in hand.

“Mister Malfoy, this next part will not be pleasant. I need to collect some samples of your blood so that I can run some tests on the isolated fluid. I will take no more than I need, but I’m afraid I’m going to need quite a bit. It’s common to experience some dizziness during the procedure, but I will be supplying you with a Replenishing Draught as soon as my work is done. Do you understand?”

He gives me a stiff nod. “Do as you must.”

I return his nod. “Please roll your sleeve up, then. Either arm is fine.”

I flick my wand and summon a Replenishing Draught as he turns his sleeve up. I set the Draught to the side, but clearly in sight so that Lucius might have some comfort.

When I turn back to Lucius, I am confronted with the Dark Mark, stark and horrifying on his porcelain skin.

“Oh.” The word pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.

He follows my gaze to the Dark Mark, then his eyes snap to mine. His voice is careful, and I can tell he’s choosing each and every word.

“I am happy to use my other arm if you would prefer. I did not take your comfort into account.”

I blink, fighting to remain professional. I haven’t been face to face with a Dark Mark since the war. Every exonerated Death Eater I’ve run into at the Ministry has worn long sleeves or maintained a glamour over the Mark. I chide myself for my foolishness. Of course, I knew Lucius had a Dark Mark. I suppose I had assumed he would keep it glamoured? 

He’s watching me carefully, hand frozen on his upturned sleeve. He seems to be perfectly happy content to wait for me to make a decision.

I take a breath, forcing myself to calm my erratic heartbeat.

My voice is weaker than I’d like when I speak. “Not at all, Mister Malfoy. It simply caught me by surprise. We can continue.”

He nods his assent and proffers me his arm. I mask my tumultuous feelings with a look of professional interest and get ready to begin my incantation.

My eyes are pulled back to the Mark, though. It’s as if I cannot look away from it.

Nevertheless, I press on. I cannot let something as small as a tattoo derail my investigation, even if that same tattoo is tied to what wakes me screaming in the night.

To Lucius’ credit, he doesn’t flinch when I begin the blood draw. He looks down upon the procedure with a cool disinterest.

I feel the need to re-establish normalcy - if that’s what you can call it.

“Well, Mister Malfoy, it appears that your blood is the same color as mine.”

A smirk lifts at his lips. “And this comes as a surprise to you, Miss Granger?”

I cap off a vial and prepare the second one. “If I’m being completely honest, I half expected it to come out Slytherin green.”

This startles a bark of a laugh out of him. Funny, I’ve never thought about what would make the head of the Malfoy empire laugh.

“Slytherin green. A perfect juxtaposition to your Gryffindor blood, eh?”

A smile spreads over my face. I can handle verbal banter.

“Well, if it wasn’t Slytherin green, I assumed it would simply run silver.”

“You suppose that I am of unicorn stock, then?”

“That would certainly explain the trademark Malfoy mane, and the lot of prancing that Draco did around Hogwarts.”

“My son does not prance.”

“Your son is a ponce.”

“I believe I’ve heard worse than accusations of ponce-dom and unicorn heritage. You praise me with faint damns.”

I place the final vial to his skin. 

“We’re almost done here. I’ve got your Replenishing Draught at the ready, and it’s best if you don’t move around immediately afterward. While you rest, I can scratch up some dinner for us, if you’d like.”

I watch a wave of dizziness wash across his face. He blinks slowly and nods. “Your wish is my command.”

I stopper the final vial and press the Draught into his hands. He takes it in his shaky grip and doffs it down his throat all at once.

“I think I will stay right here for now, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” I swish my wand and the vials of his blood zoom over to my desk. He looks a bit paler, which is very impressive considering his starting point. “I’ll work on dinner.”

Dinner is a matter of scrounging up odds and ends from the cabinet of food I keep at the ready for when I cannot drag myself out of my lab. It will be paltry fare, but at this point, we are neither beggars nor choosers. 

By the time I have scratched together a couple of sandwiches, I see that Lucius has made his way back to his armchair.

My armchair. My other armchair. My spare armchair.

I hand him a plate and take my seat. “Feeling better?”

“It was as you said. A bit of dizziness, nothing more.”

I hum a sound of assent. “I’ve got a Pepperup Potion as well, if you need it.”

He takes a delicate bite of the sandwich, then chews thoughtfully. “I think a meal will pepper me up just fine, but thank you.”

“It’s not the finest food in England, but I hope it will suffice.”

He regards the simple sandwich, then looks at me. “I was prepared to survive on old biscuits from a forgotten tin. This is a veritable feast in comparison. I find myself surprised that you have a stock of food in your laboratory, though. Are you always this prepared for a sudden quarantine?”

I smile around the bite of food in my mouth, then swallow before speaking. “Actually, this is proof positive that I am a workaholic. I’ve found myself staying here for days on end. It’s become a bit of a joke around the office.”

He surveys the lab. “I take it you sleep directly at your desk, a large book your only option for a pillow?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard the jokes they say around here.” I nod to the exam table. “It only takes a few quick spells before that is rendered into a rather comfortable bed. And though I’ve used books before as pillows, I found that the neck ache in the morning isn’t worth it. I’ve got pillows and blankets stashed here, too.”

He finishes the sandwich and gives me a shake of his head. “I’d say I’m impressed, but I expected no less from Gryffindor’s Golden Girl.”

I finish my sandwich, and immediately find myself at a loss. I don’t know what I should do next. I’ve got his samples to start testing, and about a thousand other exploratory charms and spells I should try on Lucius. He seems a little wan still, though, so I’d hate to push him too far too fast. 

The lights in my lab flicker, and go out. We both leap to our feet, wands at the ready. We cast a silent Lumos at the same time, and steady white light floods the room. 

He looks to me, wand held aloft. “Is this a normally scheduled blackout?”

I shake my head, curls bouncing softly. “I’ve never seen this happen before. The lights are spelled to detect human life. So, unless we are suddenly dead and unaware of it, I’m assuming the spells have been circumvented by the Ministry.”

He frowns, the shadows in the room making the lines on his face seem even deeper. “Why would they need to reroute that amount of power?”

“They must be doing something big while the Wizarding World is on lockdown.”

His mouth is pressed into a firm line. “I don’t like this. Forgive me for being a pessimist, but I lost faith in our Ministry years ago.”

“I wish I could say I retained my own optimism,” I reply, “but that’s just one of the things the war stole from me. I don’t like this, either.”

He nods to the door. “Let’s see if the rest of this sector has gone dark before we leap to the worst of conclusions.”

I move forward, and he takes a position at my flank. We move in silence, pressing through the door that leads to the rest of the sector. It is dark everywhere we look. A chill runs down my body, and I do my best to suppress it.

Our steady wand light casts daunting shadows throughout the hallways and terrifying shapes loom behind each door and around every corner.

The sound of his footsteps behind me is my only comfort. Funny, that having an ex-Death Eater at my back would provide me comfort.

The entire sector is dark and blessedly empty. I’m not sure exactly what we expected, but a building so steeped in magic can have secrets leak out at the smallest of impetus. We get to the end of the hall, just before the elevators, and come to a stop.

His voice is hushed. “Does it feel colder in here?”

My skin prickles. There is a chill in the air that wasn’t there before.

My reply is cut off by the crackle of ice forming on elevator doors in front of us. The temperature plummets, and so does my heart. The ice spreads like a plague, reaching inexorably toward us.

The doors to the elevator creaks open. A spindly, black hand grips the door and pulls it ajar.

With the hand comes a wave of despair and hopelessness that I haven’t felt since the war. It plunges into my mind like a dagger, and I fight the urge to drop to my knees.

“Get back!” Lucius shouts. 

I’m frozen to the spot, and it’s almost as if my heart has turned to ice.

The terrifying form of a Dementor emerges from the elevator, its hooded head a pit of black that seems to eat the light from our wands.

Images of my parents form in my mind. I’m instantly transported to the moment I wiped their memories all that time ago. Tears fall from my eyes and turn to ice upon my cheeks. I see the faces of my fallen comrades flash before my eyes, their deaths replaying over and over in gruesome fashion as the Dementor closes the distance between us.

I feel a bony finger trail its way down my cheek, and the otherworldly hand grips my neck. 

My head falls back.

The Dementor holds me in its delicate embrace.

The end is near, and it’s better if I give in. 

How blissful the void feels.

A brilliant light bursts from behind me, warm and soothing, cutting through the despair that has wrapped itself around my heart.

A shimmery form bounds forward, and the Dementor recoils with an ungodly shriek.

My mind seems to slog through mud. I realize slowly that it's a Patronus that has come to my rescue.

The shimmery Patronus backs the Dementor into the elevator shaft, forcing the cold feeling of desperation with it. 

With a yell, Lucius steps in front of me and brandishes his wand. The elevator doors slam closed at the force of his spell, the Patronus and the Dementor locked in battle behind them. 

There’s another earth-shattering shriek that rattles my bones, and then silence.

Lucius does not lower his wand until the wispy tendrils of light from his Patronus coalesce in front of him.

My vision blurs and I sway on my feet. The last thing I see before darkness consumes my vision is the sight of Lucius laying his hand on the noble brow of his Patronus, thanking it.

The lion shakes its mane and dissolves as I hit the ground.


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate fixes everything, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little late and a little shorter than I normally shoot for, but duuuuuuuude it's so hard to be productive during a worldwide pandemic. Hope this tides ya'll over!

**Part IV**

I feel strong, muscled arms scoop me off of the ground. Everything feels so heavy, I’m unable to open my eyes. My head rests on his shoulder, cradled in his arms. He moves with grace and certainty, taking care not to jostle me.

My joints ache from the cold that has settled in. If I had the energy, I’m sure I would be shivering. As it is, it’s all I can do to keep myself from sinking into peaceful oblivion. 

He kicks the door to my lab open and carefully navigates my limbs through the doorframe. I hear a couple of muttered incantations and a fire roars to life in my lab. I peek through bleary eyes and see he’s transfigured one of my file cabinets into a fireplace. Another swish of his wand, and he places me on a plush bed near the fire.

He’s gone from my side for only a moment, and then there’s a pillow under my head and a quilt on top of me. He crawls under the blanket with me, crushing my body to his. He rubs my aching limbs, practically willing me to warm back up. 

He’s tense and quiet. I want to make some kind of quip to break the silence, but my jaw refuses to cooperate. What comes out instead is a pitiful groan.

“Shhh,” he whispers into my hair.

His warmth slowly begins to seep into my bones. The cold remains in my mind, though. The horrible memories that the Dementor provoked stab at my heart, sending shivers throughout my body.

He clutches me tighter to his chest as if he could hold me together with just the strength of his arms.

“D-desk drawer,” I manage.

I can practically hear his eyebrow arching.

“Chocolate. Top drawer.”

His wand flicks out immediately, and in half a second, he catches the chocolate bar from my desk. There’s a crinkle of the wrapper, and then the sweet smell of chocolate hits my nostrils. The horrid visions behind my eyes seem to shrink back at the delicious ambrosia.

I raise my hand to take the chocolate, but tremors vibrate through my limbs. 

He makes a soft noise at the back of his throat, and I feel the soft chocolate against my lips. My tongue darts out and accepts his offering. The first bite explodes across my palate, and the visions of death behind my eyes retreat further. 

He’s incredibly patient as I nibble my way through the chocolate bar. Warmth spreads from my tongue to my stomach, and then it radiates outward to my shaking limbs. Slowly, the tremors cease, and my vision clears, like a cloudy sky giving way to the morning sun. 

Soon, I am able to take the chocolate from him and finish it on my own. All the while, he doesn’t lessen his grip on my body.

With the tremors gone, I find my eyelids growing heavy. It’s so warm, tucked under a blanket, strong arms surrounding me. My head finds his chest again, and my breathing grows even.

He settles his chin on the top of my head. “Better?”

I manage a small nod, fighting off the sweet lull of sleep.

His confession is so soft, I almost miss it. “I haven’t held someone in years.”

I force a wave of sleepiness away. “Me, either.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His chuckle is dark and low. “Surely you have wizards falling over themselves to claim the heart of Hermione Granger, the veritable heroine of the Golden Trio.”

“My one true love has always been work. She leaves very little room for dalliances.”

“She seems like a harsh mistress.”

I smirk into his chest, fighting off the edge to snort. “Beats the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Stopping long enough to realize how alone I am.”

We’re quiet for a moment. I’ve fought past the urge to sleep, though, and I’m incredibly aware of his arms around me.

My voice is low and heavy with emotion that has taken me by surprise. “I don’t feel so alone, now.”

His arms tighten around me for a brief moment. 

Huh. A hug from Lucius Malfoy. When will this man stop surprising me?

I tip my head up, watching the firelight flicker off of his jawline. “Lucius?”

He peers into my eyes, his steel grey gaze warmer than the fire. “Yes, Hermione?”

“Thank you. You saved my life.”

“I did no more or no less than you would have done.”

I fight the urge to fidget in his arms. “Still.”

“Still.” He sighs. “You are most welcome.”

A thought bounces around my mind, and I know it will bug me if I don’t voice it. I don’t want to upset this peaceful moment with this tumultuous man, but I can’t help myself.

“I, um,” I take a deep breath and the words tumble out of my mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice the form your Patronus took. A lion?”

I feel him tense. “Is that an observation, or a question?”

I pull back far enough to look him in the eye. “It’s both an observation and an obvious question inferred on the end of it.”

His mouth is pressed into a firm line. “Perhaps not so obvious. What is it you’d like to know?”

I search his face, trying to make sense of him. “To be frank, I’m shocked by the form of it. A snake, sure, would make all the sense in the world. But a lion?”

His eyes meet mine. “Perhaps there’s more to me than meets the eye.”

“To be sure. But you’re dodging the question.”

“I’ve yet to hear an actual question posed.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re being intentionally daft.”

“And you’re being intentionally vague.”

It’s all I can do not to huff in annoyance. “Fine. How is it that the Lord of Malfoy Manor, Pureblood Extraordinaire, most likely to be the heir of Salazar bloody Slytherin himself, come to have a lion as his Patronus?”

“Will there be no distracting you from this matter?”

I give a firm shake of my head. “I’m sorry. There’s something here, and I’ll not be deterred. Call it Gryffindor stubbornness if you will.”

His eyes flick down to my lips. The heat in his gaze is enough to chase the last vestiges of chill from my body.

“Yes, it would seem that one would need to tie you up and gag you to get you to cease.”

A jolt of pleasure spikes through my body and settles just beneath my stomach. Did he really just say that? And am I aroused at the thought of this dangerous man tying me up and having me at his mercy. 

He arches an eyebrow. Damn it. I think he’s noticed the flush that’s taken over my body.

I clear my throat. “So it would seem.”

He stares into the fire, the light refracting off his steely eyes. His thumb is tracing a gentle pattern up and down my arm, and I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

When he speaks, it is with a certain resignation.

“You seem to have a way of dragging heartfelt confessions out of me, so I’ll just add this one to your tally. My Patronus emerged as a lion in my adolescence. You have to understand, my education neither started nor stopped at Hogwarts. As the heir to the Malfoy fortune, I was under immense pressure to perform at the highest tier of wizard-kind. This was demanded of me from the time I could walk. I spent hours before and after my years at school studying with tutors of pedigree. Before I was even old enough to learn to apparate, I was learning deep, dangerous magic that would pull even your hair straight. Learning to cast a Patronus wasn’t a high priority, but being able to cast that level of a spell certainly was.”

He takes a ragged breath. I wonder if he’s willing himself to continue.

“Unfortunate for me, I wasn’t alone when my fully formed Patronus took shape for the first time. I was in my mother’s study. She was lounging on a chaise, fighting off one of her many headaches. I was simply trying to pass the time. Then, my lion emerged, and I’ve never seen my mother so frightened. Her face was ashen, and there was a tremor I’d never heard in her voice when she commanded me to tell no one, to never cast it in front of my father, to hold this secret to me as if it were life and death.”

“For the simple fact that your Patronus is a lion? That seems to be a bit of an overreaction.”

“Not for the only heir of the proud lineage of Malfoy. Every Lord of the Manor before me had presented with some form of snake or dragon - every single one. It’s as if my mother had discovered some sort of aberration within me. From that moment forward, I swore to her and to myself to bury that aberration deep inside, and to be the exemplary Lord I was expected to be.”

“So you never cast a Patronus, in all these years?”

The lines in his face deepen. “Throughout two wars and my years in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors at every turn, I never cast one. It helped that they were on our side of the wars, but their effects are insidious despite the Dementor’s alleged allegiance.”

My eyebrows knit together. “How did you survive?”

He offers a soft chuckle. “Sheer stubbornness is the only answer I’ve ever come up with. Toward the end of the Second Wizarding War, my entire existence was so bleak, there wasn’t much for the Dementors to feed on, regardless.”

I pull back, giving myself a better view of his face. There’s a haunted despair behind his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

“Tonight was the first time, then, that you’ve cast it since then?”

He nods, the movement barely perceptible in the low light. “It has been my shame, my burden to keep secret, for my entire life. But when I saw that Dementor lower its head to yours, I didn’t think. I simply acted to save you.”

“Why me? Why now?”

He turns his head to me, head slightly bowed. The reverence in his tone sends a shiver through my entire body.

“Redemption, Miss Granger. I want to be redeemed. And if I am only ever able to save your life this once, perhaps there is hope for me yet. You are the perfect kitten for my lion to save from a tree.”


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up in the Ministry, at last.

**Part V**

I’m spun.

How in the world did this man manage to completely flip my understanding of him in the space of a few hours?

He’s holding my gaze, a quiet vulnerability in his eyes that I’m beginning to covet. I know he’s waiting for me to reply, but my mind is spinning too much to form words.

This man was a monster. He did monstrous things. And yet, I cannot say that he is a monster any longer. What’s more, the longer I spend with him and the more I learn about him, the more I find myself empathizing with him.

To spend his life hiding a secret shame must have made him overcompensate in every available instance.

Dear Merlin, this seemingly cocky wizard must be riddled with self doubt at every turn.

My mind turns to my own overcompensation, to burying myself in books and studying to prove my place in the wizarding world. I was driven by a compulsion to prove my own worth in a world that was set up to reject any flaw I might possess.

Something falls into place in my mind.

It seems that Lucius and I have lived a very similar life.

Even though we were diametrically opposed, we moved through the world with the same impetus. The outcomes were very different, but on some fundamental level, he’s no less or better than me.

And judging by his journey toward redemption, he may just prove himself a wizard worthy of esteem and respect - not just by his peers, but by the entire wizarding world.

My voice is low and soft when I finally speak. “It must have been exhausting to spend every waking moment aware that you could be exposed and then deposed at any time.”

He closes his eyes with a smile. “Leave it to you to look back on my sordid life and find something of worth.” He opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “Exhausting is certainly a word I would use, yes.”

I pull a stray curl behind my ear. “You are different than I had originally thought.”

“Different.” He tastes the word as if he were sipping tea. “And is different, in this case, good?”

“Different is-” I look into the fire, then back to him. “Different is surprising, and good.”

His chuckle is a low rumble in his chest. “I’ll take it, then. And you, Hermione Granger, are every bit as good as I feared you were.”

“And good is-”

“Different than I’m used to,” he finishes for me.

We share a laugh at that, and for a moment it feels as if I am tucked away in the Gryffindor Common Room, in the arms of my imaginary sweetheart. The fire, our easy conversation, the way his arms are still snug around me - it all seems surreal. 

His thumb traces a small circle on my arm. “So, where does this leave us?”

I offer him a smile. “Well, it leaves us stuck together in the Ministry, but no longer at odds.”

“United in purpose, then. We work together to save the bloody Wizarding World, and both come out of it having learned valuable lessons on acceptance and redemption and other rainbow filled things?”

I tilt my head back and laugh. “Yes, we save the bloody Wizarding World, and we both come out better people. Welcome to the side of the Light, Lucius. You may find that you like it.”

He fixes me with a look. “After this is over, please don’t go singing tales of my saint-like do-goodery. I’m not doing this for accolades. This is simply to wipe my slate clean.”

My eyebrows knit. “You’d be sacrificing rejoining the world in a position of prominence.”

He gives a half shrug. “I’ve lived my life in a position of prominence. Now, I’d like to live out my days in the quiet anonymity of being a Nobody. There are very few strictures and expectations set upon people that do not matter. I’d like to give it a try.”

“Fair enough.” I toss my curls over my shoulder and manage to stick my hand out to him, despite being tucked into his embrace. “Let’s shake on it. For lack of better phrasing, what happens here, stays here. Other than the cure, of course. We work together to do some good, and that’s that.”

“Of course.” He grips my hand in a firm shake. “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.” 

A ripple of something goes through us, and our hands tighten.

It feels as if the temperature in the room has increased a hundredfold. A small gasp leaves me as my cheeks flush and I’m suddenly aware of how close his face is to mine. 

Images of the kiss we shared mere hours ago flash through my mind. I feel as if he is a completely different person to me, now, and my desire for him is a lightning storm in my brain.

And why shouldn’t I want him?

I see the restraint in his eyes, and I realize that he wants me, too. 

We’re hanging on a precipice, a breath away from something, and I don’t think either of us knows what is to come. 

There’s no sense dancing around the subject, I suppose. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck together. And the not knowing, as deliciously tantalizing as it is, has to come to an end sometime.

I force myself to hold his gaze. “Shall we talk about the Thestral in the room, since we’ve talked of lions and kittens already?”

His eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “This Thestral being-”

It all comes out of me in a rush. “Our kiss. We kissed. I kissed you, I mean, and then we, erm, kissed.”

“Yes. That.” He holds his breath for a long moment, and then slowly lets it out. “I must confess, I do not regret it as much as I think I should. Though, I admit there is a certain impropriety-”

“I want to kiss you again.” The confession blurts out of me before I can stop myself.

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise. He clears his throat, tightening his arms around my body for just a fraction of a second.

“So you aren’t bothered by my-” He searches for a word, then finishes his sentence with a resigned sigh. “Advanced age?”

I squint my eyes at him. “You’re not exactly Nicolas bloody Flamel, you know.”

His chuckle rumbles in his chest. “That I cannot argue with. Nevertheless, it would be catastrophic for you, being associated with someone like me, of a different generation and a degenerate Death Eater, moreover-”

I press my lips to his, cutting off his protestations.

He gasps into my mouth, hesitating for a fraction of a second before kissing me back with the fervor of a dying man. 

Our first kiss was desperation and clutching, brimming with need and uncertainty. This one, however, is like the searing heat of the heart of a flame. 

I lean into his body, revelling in the feeling of his muscles rippling beneath me. His arms are steel, his fingers soft as velvet on my cheeks. 

He deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping over mine. This elicits a moan out of me, and he pulls me ever closer.

I twist in his grip, climbing into his lap, my legs on either side of him. My fingers are in his hair, his hands go to my hips, and it feels as if our bodies are in perfect concert with each other. 

A delicious thrill shoots through me and settles just beneath my stomach. I arch my back and press myself flush against his body. His groan of approval is seconded by the way his fingers grip my hips.

Our tongues dance together, and my hips roll of their own accord. That’s when I feel the proof of his desire, and I tangle my fingers into his hair, as if I could devour him if he’d let me.

His hands slide from my hips downward to grasp my ass, and I follow his movements with another roll of my hips. He lets out a low, visceral growl, his body tense and ready to spring. 

I pull back from our kiss and meet his eyes as I undulate my body on top of him. There in his crystalline gaze, I see my own need reflected back to me.

In one smooth motion, he wraps his arms around my body and lays me down, settling his weight on top of me. Having this man over me, his desire flush against mine, his arms on either side of my head, I feel at peace.

His fingers go to my cheeks, my face, then flutter down my neck. The ghostly touch sends shivers through me as goosebumps erupt on my skin. 

He breaks our kiss to rake his teeth on the sensitive skin of my neck. I whimper with need, urging this man to never, ever stop.

He latches on to my collarbone, and pulls my jumper up and over my breasts. I grip his shoulders, begging him for more, my nails raising the tiniest of red lines on his skin. 

I’ve never felt so small, or so precious, than in the capable hands of this dark man. His grip is insistent and full of need, and yet I feel as if I could shatter like porcelain if he willed it.

Together, we dispose of my jumper, and I immediately start working on the buttons of his shirt. If I don’t feel his skin against mine, I fear I might go mad. I’m feverish in my attempts to loosen his shirt, and I feel his smile against my skin as he takes over the buttons for me.

In a trice, he’s liberated from his shirt, and finally he presses his skin against mine. His kiss turns almost savage, all teeth and growls. 

“Gods, kitten.” He leaves my lips to whisper in my ear. “I must have you.”

My voice is low and throaty with need, so that I hardly recognize it. “I’m yours.”

A triumphant smile erupts on his face, and he pulls away long enough to divest me of my jeans. His pants follow shortly after, and even in the brief time that we were apart, I felt I might be ripped asunder.

Then he’s back, his lips on mine, his marble-like skin creating an inferno inside of me. His hair, previously so well kept, is a wild mane, falling like water around my face. 

The next thing I know, he’s pulling my panties away and the cool air against me makes me whimper. He pulls away for a millisecond, his eyes raking up and down my body.

“You are a goddess, Hermione.”

I sit up on my elbows, taking in the sight of the Adonis above me. My head tilts back, sending my hair cascading over my shoulders, and I find I cannot help myself.

“Then worship me.”

He needs no further encouragement. He presses me back down, then trails blazing kisses down my torso. I arch my back, mouth open and gasping as I realize his destination.

His mouth finds my center and a rush of pleasure takes over me. His ministrations are urgent, as if he were a man dying of thirst drinking at an oasis. I grip my hands in his hair, my eyes shutting of their own accord. He’s rocketing me toward orgasm, and I’m almost afraid that I won’t get put back together once I fall apart.

He feels me begin to tense, and he focuses on my tiny bud of nerves, sucking and lathing with his tongue. 

I finally fall apart, stars shooting behind my closed eyes. I feel his triumphant grin against my core as I quiver beneath him. Tenderly, he nurses me through my orgasm, as if he’s encouraging each and every last ounce of pleasure from my body. 

My mind and body gloriously spent, I gaze at him with bleary eyes.

“Gods, Lucius.” 

He smiles, his cockiness and bravado gone. He crawls up my body, a panther on the prowl, and claims my mouth with his.


End file.
